


Save a life I didn't have

by Andiandyandee



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Depression, Drugs, Heavy Angst, Hell, Hurt Crowley, I'm Sorry, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, It does get better I promise, M/M, Mental Breakdown, My First Work in This Fandom, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), Yikes, i'm not projecting, sorry lol, this is a rough one, very little fluff, well i sort of am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2020-06-02 14:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andiandyandee/pseuds/Andiandyandee
Summary: 5 times Aziraphale thought he might lose Crowley +1 time he did.Obligatory Hozier lyric title





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings. While this does eventually get better it gets very not good first. Take care of yourselves.

Crowley lived his life differently than Aziraphale had, throughout the last 6,000 years. And while perhaps Aziraphale could not be considered mentally sound, what with his anti-social habits and, frankly, concerning alcohol consumption, he was like a beacon of stability compared to the demon.

Aziraphale had always, since the beginning, lived life as per the Plan, more or less. He did not feel overwhelming guilt when something tragic happened. He was an angel, and Angels knew that **She** was the one who was accountable for what happened and what didn't happen, and they accepted that while yes, it was sad, it was something that would come to pass with or without their involvement.

Crowley, however, did not feel the same way. He _thought_ too much, you see, and it tore away at him. It blackened his heart to match his wings, to match his soul, to match the ash that was once his faith. He _knew_ the Almighty was rolling dice to determine the future and he _knew_ that She let the humans live autonomously occasionally. He _knew_ what would happen. He had sat at her feet while She made the humans, he had helped with their design, and when faced with the knowledge that they were intentionally flawed, he wanted to know _**why.**_

When he fell, he forgot most of his time in heaven. He forgot the way his wings gleamed a gold so pale it passed for white in Her presence. He forgot the days of singing with the cherubs, flying with his brothers and sisters, watching the world begin.  


He did not forget Her. He did not forget Her love, nor the way She let him design galaxies. He did not forget the look She gave him when he dared to ask _**why**_ She wanted the humans to fail. He did not forget the regret in Her eyes when he fell with Morningstar. He did not forget the pain in Her eyes, hurt that must have been almost as tortured as Crowley's eyes were, as they burned away, as _**he**_ burned away, and left nothing but a walking heartache.

Aziraphale may not have been 'sound', but Crowley was absolutely **destroyed.**


	2. 1. Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fall, Crowley visited Eden

After the fall, with wounds still not truly healed, Crowley visited Eden. He was on direct orders, of course, to make trouble. There was really only one thing he could do **_to_ ** make trouble then, only one rule worth breaking. So he tempted. And when he succeeded, which honestly wasn't particularly hard, because he _knew_ they were going to eat it eventually anyway, he didn't feel bad. It wasn't until he spoke to Aziraphale that he really felt anything.

It wasn't until Aziraphale had looked so distressed about the humans being in new, dangerous territory that he realized that he had played right into Her hands. Had he not tempted, would they still be safe? Did he damn them too, as he had damned himself?

Crowley fell silent, begging in his mind for Her to tell him if this was his fault. He didn't say a word aloud, but he screamed to her, begging to know if he could have prevented this. He asked Her to kill him instead. To let him disappear rather than to live like this for eternity. She did not answer.

This silence alone was enough to send Crowley into a tailspin. Alcohol was not yet invented, but there were certain herbs that created an experience not unlike drinking a fifth of vodka on an empty stomach that Crowley indulged in. He was indulging in this new coping mechanism when the angel found him.

"Are you quite alright, Crawly?" Aziraphale had asked, not actually expecting and answer, and not really wanting one either. He asked for the sake of manners alone. Crowley, or Crawly, as he was called then, surprised them both by choking out an honest reply.

"I tempted them, Angel, and now they will die for it." He said this with a deep rooted sorrow he couldn't place, and when he sobered up, he would likely assume this was naught but a vivid hallucination, which is why he was so honest.

"Why, yes, I suppose you did. Was that not what you intended? Wasn't it indeed your whole plan to tempt the humans?"

"No! Well, yes, but I thought- well I thought it would happen anyway!" Crowley's words were slurred together slightly. "It was, it was the Plan, capital P. She said so, once. But it wasn't Her, it was me! I did, I was, I caused it."

"Well I suppose if it was the plan, Crawly, there was nothing you could have done. Perhaps this was ineffable, as they say."

"You're ineff- ineffable. Shut up. Why are you here anyway, Aziraphale? Shouldn't you be guarding the garden? Or making sure the humans don't hurt themselves with that great flaming sword?"

"The garden is _gone,_ Crawly. The Almighty removed it once the humans left. And the humans don't often use the sword now, what with the children." Aziraphale sighs. "Time for them seems to move much faster. They live such short lives now, I suppose they must do much more in the time they are given than we must do. I know that your falling was unpleasant, " Crowley visibly flinched at that, "but it won't do to sit here and do nothing. There is no reason to dwell on what could have been. Though I suppose, if you were to stay here, you would not cause any more damage to the humans, "Crowley flinched at that too, but Aziraphale was not paying attention, "Carry on, I suppose. Goodbye, Crawly."

Crowley simply put his head on his knees in a pose that could almost be mistaken for praying, if you were unaware that Crowley was a demon. As it was, it was difficult to say whether or not he was praying. Crowley _himself_ couldn't have answered. But he didn't move from that position until he had long sobered. and at that time, the angel had gone, and Crowley was alone.

For a long while, Crowley developed a pattern. He would indulge, he would suffer, he would sober, and he would repeat. It wasn't until the herbs he consumed became impossible to find (he had cursed Her name for that, though he wasn't actually sure she had done it) ~~(She had)~~.

After he had gone to see the boys, the twins Cain and Abel, he felt better. He was happier knowing that something good had come from his mistake. He tried not to influence much, but perhaps his presence alone led to the first murder. At least, that is what Crowley told himself had happened. (It hadn't)

Guilt left the demon far more bitter than he was when he fell. What was left of his innocence and hope shattered after he watched the humans mourn their loss. Crowley mourned too, but for the loss of his own self. Crowley returned to Hell, bitterly claiming the violence of his own doing. Hell was pleased. Morning Star, or Satan, as he was called now, was especially pleased. Crowley could not bring himself to be _pleased,_ but he was _complacent_ now, at the very least. The pain had finally buried the curiosity in him, for now, at least. 

Of course, he and Aziraphale were not friends then. They were hardly even _enemies_ at that point, so it did not occur to Aziraphale that the pain in Crowley's eyes was guilt and torment over his _actions_ rather than over his fall. When the demon fell silent and Aziraphale left, he assumed he would never see the demon again, and honestly, he wasn't particularly bothered by that idea at the time. The angel simply followed orders, and basked in the light of the plan he so willingly followed. He did not so much as consider the demon Crawly again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so that was the proper first chapter. It's un beta'd because I have never actually used my tumblr and am not a writer. Nor do I have friends lol.  
> Leave a kudo or comment if you want, i guess.


	3. 2. The Flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is against killing kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This discusses suicide and the death of children so be warned.

Aziraphale's lack of consideration for Crowley changed, of course, after the flood.

* * *

"Not the kids!" Crowley looked terrified to the angel "You can't kill kids." Aziraphale nodded. Panic was replaced with a cold mask of indifference. It was the face he used to hide how disgusted he was when in Hell, mostly

"That's something you'd expect my lot to do."

The rest of the conversation was mostly menial, the unicorn escaped, they discussed the 'rain bow', and Aziraphale went to stay with Noah's family. Crowley did not.

When the rain began, Crowley initially tried to save the children. To keep them afloat by any means. He could not save them all, but the kids, they surely couldn't have deserved **_this._**

When it was clear this plan would fail, he tried something else. He miracled (if that's what it could be called) every child asleep, with pleasant dreams. If he could not save them, he could at least stop them from consciously suffering.

He sat there, through the flood, keeping watch over the humans he had long walked beside. After a week or so, the screams stopped. The few clinging to life had eventually succumbed to the water. The screams had stopped, but Crowley could still **_hear_ ** them. He was fully submerged in the water, and had been for several days. The bodies of small children, of families and friends, of humans who cared so deeply and honestly were everywhere, strewn about and disregarded as if nothing more than a child's old toys. He supposed that's essentially what they were. Toys the Almighty was bored of.

After forty days, that felt more like years to Crowley, the rain stopped. The water washed away, and there was indeed a rainbow. There were no longer any living things left that were not on the ark. No plants, no animals, no people. Just mud, and corpses, and a single, man-shaped serpent curled in on himself, staring at nothing in particular. Aziraphale found Crowley only a day or so after the waters receded.

"Hello, Crawley. What brings you back here? Surely there's nothing left to tempt." Aziraphale was a bit worried that perhaps some humans had survived the flood, and the Almighty would have to try again.

"I never left," Crowley muttered this very quietly. It had been quite some time since he had spoken , or breathed for that matter, and he wasn't particularly keen on doing it now.

"Whatever do you mean? You couldn't have stayed here during that! "

"I did. I stayed. Kept them.. company, I suppose."

"Why? Do demons truly enjoy human suffering so much?"

"Shut up, Angel." Crowley croaked that out in a voice that was not unlike that of a man begging for forgiveness after a horrible wrongdoing. Crowley had a bit of a soft spot for the Angel who had broken rules to save the humans. He also had a temper, though, and it oft overshadowed the budding feelings of what would later be love when it came to Aziraphale's holier-than-thou attitude.

"Well, why **_did_ ** you stay, then?" Aziraphale sat next to Crowley. He, too, had a soft spot for the demon, though he was mostly unsure why. He supposed it was because Angels were creatures of love, and Crowley seemed to be someone who desperately needed love. 

"I- I wanted to make sure they didn't suffer. The kids. They didn't understand- at first they liked it. And then they were so scared. Oh Go- Oh Sata- Oh _Someone,_ Aziraphale, they were so _scared._ I couldn't just _leave._ " Crowley's hands tightened into fists, nails cutting into his palms and allowing the black, volatile substance that passed for blood in demons to trickle between his fingers into the dirt below him.

"My dear boy- ah, Demon- you surely didn't sit here simply to blame yourself! The humans were punished for wrongdoings, they made that choice, free will and all, and they paid the price!" Aziraphale was not sure he believed that, but it was what he was told, and who was he to question direct statements from Her?

Crowley pointed to the body of a small child less than a hundred yards away. Her dark hair was splayed around her, a small toy still gripped in her hand. Her name was Naomi, and she had clung to Crowley's hip when the water started rising. Her parents had been swept away and her brothers were nowhere to be found. Crowley had whispered quietly to the girl, telling her it would be okay. It was a false hope, a blatant lie, but it was all he could think to do.

"That one, there. She was four years old. She had two brothers, who were older, and perhaps could have made bad choices, but the biggest decision **she** made was whether to pick the yellow or pink flowers to give to her mother." He pointed to another child, closer still to the pair. Jacob. Crowley put him to sleep almost immediately. The boy was sickly already, before the flood, and Crowley knew as soon as the water cooled the boy would suffer. "He was two. Hardly speaking, that one. He once tried to give me some of his food because I didn't have any, despite the fact all he had was stale bread. Does that sound like a sinner to you? Selflessness at an age too young to even understand WHY?"

"Well, he was technically consorting with a demon.." Aziraphale's thought was cut off by Crowley's hand at his throat. He was suddenly pinned to a wall that was certainly much further away a moment ago.

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare say it was their fault. This was not the justified actions of a merciful _god_ " he said god very similar to how one would say 'dung stuck to one's shoe' "They were not all saints, sure, but they did not deserve this. These were **_children_ **, Angel. This was not mercy. This was a temper tantrum thrown by a great sniveling bastard." Crowley shoved away from the angel. He snapped his fingers and the bodies were buried, fresh earth piled with small markers, each with a small plant sprouting from it. When Aziraphale tried to speak again, he was cut off by a threatening hiss from Crowley. He watched the demon saunter away, dumbfounded.

* * *

After the humans were buried, Crowley found a new place to hide. He sent a report to Hell, letting them know he prevented the Almighty from torturing the humans, which while technically speaking was something Demons should be for, was good, or rather bad, in this case because it went against the Plan. Lucifer congratulated him, and Crowley found somewhere dark and quiet to suffer in his thoughts alone for a while.

* * *

After 100 years, the area would resemble Eden in that the plants were impossibly healthy for never having been tended to. Crowley swore he never revisited the grave sites, though people that lived there after would sometimes tell stories of a great serpent that lay curled in the sun around a plant that for some reason grew both yellow and pink flowers.

* * *

Aziraphale did not see Crowley for a long while after that, and this actually _did_ bother the Angel. He wanted to apologize, but Aziraphale had seen the burning pain and hatred in Crowley's eyes. He had only seen that pain a few times in the past, and the humans who had expressed it seemed to meet untimely deaths soon thereafter, typically by their own hand. Aziraphale did not know if a Demon could die in such a manner, but expected this particular Demon at the very least discorporated. This had of course upset Aziraphale, but there was nothing he could do about it, so he continued on his life, only rarely thinking of his lost frie- enemy. When wine became available, he rose a glass to the demon, but never spoke of it beyond that. It would be improper to mourn a demon, after all.


	4. 3. The Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley received a commendation for the Spanish Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its taken me forever to write this but it is here now
> 
> This has discussions of torture, suicide and self harm. Please heed the warnings.

Towards the next time Aziraphale assumed he had lost Crowley, several things had changed. Aziraphale had lost some of his angelic attitude, and Crowley had lost  _ a lot _ of his demonic viciousness. 

It was the early 1800s, and it was the end of the Spanish Inquisition. Aziraphale found Crowley sitting in a tavern, hair messed about in a way that could only come from someone pulling at it fervently for quite a while. (Aziraphale assumed Crowley has just finished having relations, but really he had just come from receiving a commendation for the Inquisition, and had promptly panicked and sobbed for three weeks upon finding out what they were talking about) 

"Hello, Crowley. You're looking.. well" Aziraphale sat next to the demon with just a Ghost of a smile. 

"Hullo, Angel. What are you, what are you drinking?" Crowley's voice trembled a bit as he asked, holding a hand up to call the bartender's attention. She rolled her eyes and poured another drink for him.

"Last one, _Anthony._ You've been here for three days, you gotta go home." She glanced at Aziraphale and poured him a drink as well, handing it to him without much more than a glare. "Seriously. I'm cutting you off." She walked away and Crowley hissed at her retreating form. 

" **_Three days?_ ** " Aziraphale gasped, "Crowley what on Earth has gotten into you?" 

"The Inquisition ended." Crowley muttered in reply, as if that helped clear the situation at all. He laid some money on the counter, certainly more than his bill could have been, even if he had been drinking for three days, and stood, he grinned sloppily at the baffled angel and asked, "You coming?" Before sauntering out the door. Aziraphale swallowed his drink in one gulp and scurried after Crowley, who was already nearly half a kilometer away, stumbling quickly towards the park the two often met at to speak and feed the ducks. He hurried after the Demon, carefully avoiding the other few people who were wandering about. When he reached Crowley, the demon was sprawled across the bench in a rather unceremonious heap. 

"You know, while I **understand** that you are a demon, I am rather surprised you are so distraught about the end of the Inquisition, though I suppose it _does_ seem like something your lot would enjoy." 

Crowley had that look again. The pained grimace of a man-shaped being who was both terrified and disgusted. Behind his glasses, there were tears, but Aziraphale did not see them, and they never made it down his face. 

"It wasn't us. It was them. The humans. They- they do such horrible things, Angel. They think up new and effective ways to destroy and torture all on their own. They- oh Go- Satan they just, they just do those sorts of things. For no reason! To defend religion! Why do they think this is what She wants?" Aziraphale was stunned at the desperate panic in Crowley's voice. "What made them- why did they" suddenly the Demon was sobbing again. Aziraphale kept his mouth tightly closed, unsure on what to say. When he finally got the ability to speak back, the first thing out of his mouth was probably the worst thing he could have said.

"Crowley, you mustn't blame yourself. You couldn't have known the original sin could lead to thi-" Crowley's sobs cut off in what sounded a bit like the Demon had choked. 

"The- the apple caused this?" His voice was small, and scared, and guilty. It was _not_ the voice of a very powerful immortal being. It was the voice of a scared child realizing they did something very wrong and someone had gotten hurt because of it. Aziraphale had hardly even stuttered out a "No, that is not what i mea-" and Crowley was gone. Aziraphale set is head in his hands, too nervous to pray for his friend/enemy to be alright, but just nervous enough to consider it.

Meanwhile, Crowley got back to his flat and collapsed on the cold stone flooring. He sobbed into the dark and slightly distorted reflection of himself. He was hyperventilating, trying desperately to get air into lungs that didn't actually need to breathe. He dug his nails into his arms where they were curled tightly against his chest. He stayed like that for another several days before he moved properly again. He watered his houseplants, screaming violent threats at an aloe plant that had grown a bit wayward. It immediately perked up. 

When he was done yelling at the plants, he drank a large amount of his liquor cabinet, starting alphabetically with a bottle of absinthe that was probably not actually safe to consume and ending somewhere near whiskey though there were a few bottles in between he had missed. He was on the floor again, looking at his ceiling as if it had done some great wrong to him. Nobody knocked, or came to check on him. Not a single neighbor considered to see if all was well once the noise died down, and while they all saw the plants in the windows slowly wither away, nobody was willing to incur the biting sarcasm and towering glare of one Mr. A. J. Crowley, so they let him be. And when the days became months, and the months became years, Crowley laid unmoving, unbreathing, and undisturbed on his cold flooring, dust settling over him like a forgotten piece of furniture in an abandoned house. 

Aziraphale had considered visiting, seeing the demon was well, but he always thought better of it. It was several years before Aziraphale noticed there was no longer any demonic energy in London. There was no sign that Crowley has so much as glued a coin to a sidewalk in the last decade. This thought worried Aziraphale, and he thought again to the way Crowley has sounded, so scared and broken on the bench in the park. 

* * *

  
  


In 1862, when the two meet again, Aziraphale is immediately relieved. Crowley is fidgeting, and nervous, but mostly he is there, and sarcastic, and alive. And then he asks Aziraphale for something that immediately breaks the Angel's heart. 

  
  


The slip only has two words. Holy Water. For if it all goes pear shaped, Crowley said. Insurance, rather than a suicide pill, he assured the Angel. But all Aziraphale could think of was the way Crowley had desperately asked if it was his fault, and all Aziraphale could see were the eight crescent scars on Crowley's arms that had not been there the day they had last spoken. He needed Crowley to see reason, to realize it was not an option. 

"It will destroy you!" He had said. "I won't give you a suicide pill" He was begging the demon to see, to understand what he was saying. I won't let you die, i need you to stay. Stay here, old friend. All will be well. Instead, he said "I'm not an idiot, Crowley.

Do you know what trouble I'd be in if- if they knew I'd been fraternising? It's completely out of the question." It was the wrong thing to say. 

"I don't need you" Crowley had said. He was lying, of course. 

"Well the feeling is mutual! Obviously." The second the words left his mouth, Aziraphale panicked. That was not what he should have said. He should have reassured the demon that he had not meant what he said. That they were friends, and that the arrangement was important, and his title was important, but that Crowley was important too. Instead he watched the demon leave, saying nothing at all. 

* * *

Crowley went back to his flat and settled into his bed rather than the floor. It was a long time before he woke again, opting to sleep instead of being aware of the dull ache in his chest.


	5. 4: WWII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony Crowley meets a girl named Margot and her sister Anne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a miracle! I actually updated! 
> 
> This discusses death and concentration camps. Heed this warning, please. It's not really graphic but it's mentioned/ implied.

Crowley slept through the first world war. If he'd had a choice, he'd have slept through the second one too. But there were angels to save, and nazi's to stop, so Crowley woke up. He woke before the angel needed him, when someone else needed him first. 

Crowley was not so much summoned as he was prayed for, and really, they hadn't been praying to him insomuch as they were praying to whomever was closest and could hear them. Which of course meant Crowley was awoken to the desperate pleas of a young man and his lover, crying out for someone to save them. He moved to go, surprised at the new pain in his back that had manifested sometime during his sleep, and he assumed it would eventually go away. (It didn't. It turns out sleeping for a century really does a number on one's spine, knees, and hips. Some days were better than others, though none were exactly pain free .)

Demons as a general rule do not make house calls, and they certainly don't respond to wild prayers. Crowley was known for breaking the general rules. And so he appeared, in a small room hidden behind a shelf in a home that had been quite loved for a while now. He appeared in such a way the two men, who's backs were pressed against the door to keep those coming for them out, could not see him. The room itself was unlit, dusty, and clearly never used. He lowered himself in front of the men before showing himself. By showing himself of course he meant firmly placing a hand over each man's mouth so they wouldn't scream. 

"You asked for a miracle, and all the angels are busy, so I'm going to have to do." Crowley said this very quietly, though he knew no one outside this room could hear. "I need you to not scream when I move my hands, do you understand?" Both men nodded. Crowley pulled his hands away and placed them on his knees. 

"What are-" Crowley shook his head.

"You don't want to know. If you were to leave this place, where would be safe? Where can you go to be safe?" The men were both crying. 

"Nowhere is safe for us. We're- we aren't allowed to be-" 

"Yes I know in the grand scheme of things you two being homosexuals is an issue

But where will you  **_survive?_ ** "

The men were eventually relocated to a small town in America that has enough people that two more was hardly noticeable. 

That was all Crowley did for a while. Relocating humans to places that were safer for them. He had built quite a reputation on both sides. To the Allies, Anthony J. Crowley was the man who smuggled people away from terror. (The name came from the bartender in 1804. When She had tried to guess his name, he agreed on her first guess and kept it. The J was just a J, though. Mostly for decoration.) To the Axis Powers, A. J. Crowley was the man to call when someone needed to disappear. No one who met with Mr. Crowley was ever seen alive again. The nazis had made their own assumptions, but they knew better than to ask too many questions. 

* * *

That was what Crowley was doing in 1945, when he passed by a young woman around 19, ill and clearly dying. He was mostly unseen, walking invisible through the camps of Germany. He only had the energy to relocate about 6 adults or 10 children a day, before his body started feeling like it might not be stable anymore and he had been pushing that limit for weeks now. Something about her made him stop, and when he showed himself to her, whispering that he would send her anywhere she wanted to go, she shook her head. 

"No, sir. Please, there are others who need the help that are still well enough to live." Crowley could feel his throat close off when she looked to him with glassy eyes. None of this was spoken in English, of course, but he would remember it in English anyway, even now, because he tended to think in English and the girls accent was a bit too strong to remember what she said otherwise. 

"I can help you. I will help them, too. Where do you want to go?" The girl shook her head.

"You only send a few at a time. I've seen you before. Not me. Take them, instead." Crowley sighed, nodding, and stood. When he had sent the kids (12 of them, all of them bald and scared and ill) away, he went to find the girl. He was unsure if he could actually relocate her, but he felt he had to try. 

She was still where he had left her, and he realized that she would not make it through the night, relocated or not. There was a younger girl (barely conscious, clearly unwell) who looked quite similar to this one who was lying near her. 

"She would have changed the world, if this hadn't happened." The woman said, pointing to the corpse-like child. "Who would ever think that so much went on in the soul of a young girl?" She said it in a voice a bit higher than her own. "That's what she said. Honestly? I wouldn't have thought it either, before. When we were younger I would have never considered it. But here we are. She would have changed the world, and instead we died on the ground in the mud, away from anyone who cared."

"You aren't dead, yet." Crowley said softly, holding the woman's hand.

"Aren't I?" Crowley couldn't answer that. She was very close to slipping into unconsciousness.

"Who is she?" He asked softly.

"My sister. Anne. I'm Margot, by the way."

"Anthony."

"Terrible to meet you, Anthony."

* * *

The woman died that night, and her sister a few days later. Crowley had sat with the younger sister, assuring her it would be alright. That it would be over soon. When a diary would surface later, Crowley would desperately wish that he could have assured Margot that her sister had, in fact, changed the world. 

* * *

When Aziraphale saw Crowley, only a few nights after young Anne had passed, he seemed perfectly normal. He sauntered (well, hopped. Consecrated ground was not great for demons.) through the church and saved Aziraphale and his books and drove them home. Aziraphale had realized in that moment, of course, what he felt for the Demon was  _ love,  _ and had promptly panicked the entire way to Soho. Crowley's casual smirk had fallen some time during the drive and he looked dead tired, and sad. Aziraphale could not see the demon's behind his glasses, but he knew they would have that far off pain in them if he could. 

"Crowley? Where have you been since the war started?" Crowley's hands gripped the Bentley's wheel so hard it was almost a miracle the thing didn't snap. 

"Everywhere. I spent a few weeks at Auschwitz. Most recently Bergen-belsen. I'm going to Japan next. POW camps." Aziraphale did not ask why. He knew what the demon was doing. instead he asked, 

"Would you like to come in for a bit? Get some sleep before you leave?" Crowley's voice trembled only slightly when he replied.

"I don't think I could ever sleep again, after what I saw there, Angel." 

Aziraphale went into the bookstore alone, watching the Bentley drive off much faster than it should have been capable of going. He wondered if Crowley, or Anthony? Did he go by Anthony now? would ever return from that far off pain in his voice and the way his hands trembled.

* * *

In August, Aziraphale had still not heard from Crowley. It was February when they had last spoken, and when the bombs dropped, the Angel had to wonder if Crowley had known, and chose to stay on purpose. 

Aziraphale drank to Crowley that night too, though his toast was, at least aloud, to the ending of the war.

* * *

Crowley walked beside the soldiers who left the POW camps, walked them to the planes, and the boats that would take them home. After they had gone, he himself went home to his dusty flat in London. He ignored the burning pain in his hips, a sign he had walked far too long on uneven ground. He took a handful of pills that shouldn't be combined and drank as much alcohol as he could procure, and decidedly did not sleep, because he feared he would never be rid of the look on young Margot's face, because those men's faces when they were told they were going home were great, but they were not the faces of the war. The true faces of the war were forgotten in unmarked, mass graves, and they were scared and sick and hopeless. The real faces of the war were burned into Crowley's eyelids, and when he closed his eyes, they were all he could see.


	6. The Apoca-i-don't-think-so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley throws a fit, sells a house in Italy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled so much with this chapter good lord. Rewrote it twice and still not happy but... YEET

The end times began with a small child in a basket.

They began in a small hospital full of less than competent nuns and a demon with a questionable walk (which was caused mostly by the way his hips didn't quite sit right but came off as swagger). The children were shuffled about in such a way that the antichrist was sent with two firm but loving parents who were about as English as they could be, and the decidedly not antichrist was given to some self righteous American and her just as bad if not worse husband. The third child was discreetly disposed of. The nuns assumed this meant it was **_disposed_ ** of, but thanks to a small demonic miracle it was adopted by a lovely pair of artists in Manchester who had always wanted kids but had yet to find a child they really felt was the right fit.

That child is irrelevant to the story though he probably had crossed paths with the ones who are relevant to the story at some point.

Not too long after babies antichrist and decidedly not antichrist were home with their not parents, Crowley and Aziraphale began a new and weird chapter of their lives where they are Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis.

Nanny Ashtoreth cares for young Warlock (formerly referred to as decidedly not antichrist) and Brother Francis cared for the plants. Neither of them did a particularly good job, though they did do their best.

And then the real issues began. First, the two stopped talking. Then, Aziraphale was inconveniently discorporated in such a way that Crowley assumed him dead.

And then Crowley drank himself into a stupor and they saved the world, but didn't actually do much either way.

And **_then_ **, they were each other briefly to decidedly not die after sort of saving the world, and that put them in a very vulnerable position. 

Shortly after they toasted to the world, Aziraphale decided to ask.

"Crowley, when I was.. not myself during the trials, I noticed some things." Crowley shrugged and gestured for him to continue. "Well, it seems as though the body was broken. It hurt, and didn't seem to move right."

"Oh, yeah. I've got some back and hip problems. Need to see my chiropractor soon, see if I can work out the kinks a bit. Nothing to worry about, Angel" The demon did not make eye contact.

"When did it start? You've never mentioned it."

"World War II, I think. Not sure exactly but it's relatively new. Not the knee pain, that's been around since the flood, but the rest isn't anything I'm worried about."

"Are you worried about the knee?"

"No." (He lied. There was something very wrong with it)

"But Crowley, I-"

"Drop it, Angel."

Crowley left after that, storming home to his houseplants and uncomfortable furniture. He was not actually sure why he had shortened the conversation with Aziraphale and been in such a bad mood. He had never actually hidden his pain, it had just never come up. He assumed it was something to do with the fact that the angel had to deal with it that had him so on edge. He drank a few bottles of wine and collapsed in bed, dead set on ignoring any emotions or feelings that were coming his way.

  


After three weeks, Aziraphale was worried. He had not seen Crowley in far too long, and was going a bit out of his mind. He had made a call to Crowley's neighbor, Genevieve,(a lovely young woman who Crowley had helped doctor her small hibiscus tree back to life after it suddenly started dying) and she said that while she hasn't seen him, not one of his plants were wilted and there's no mail in his box so he must be there at some point. He had texted, called, and left a half dozen messages for Crowley and had yet to get any answer. He decided after three weeks he was just going to go check on the Demon, and that was how he found himself standing at the front door of his oldest friends flat, too scared to knock. He could still faintly sense the holy water, which he hoped was just from Ligur, but it did seem a little stronger than he remembered it. He knocked quietly and received no answer. Genevieve stuck her head out and gave Aziraphale a smile.

"Hello Az! Anthony still isn't answering you? He's been awfully quiet the last few days. I heard him hollering last friday night about something but nothin since."

"You didn't check on him?" Aziraphale went pale.

"Nah, he always does that. Bad dreams I suspect, but if you ask he makes up some garbage about stubbing his toe or breaking a glass." Aziraphale frowned at that. "Don't worry hon, I'm sure he's just been one of his moods" She waved and went back into her flat, and Aziraphale unlocked the door to Crowley's. Inside looked much the same as it always did, empty and surprisingly heavenly in appearance. The plants all looked perfect, but the soil was completely dry. Aziraphale watered them quickly and then moved further through the room. He could easily sense Crowley's presence most of the time, but it currently felt more like an afterglow. The Angel did not expect to find his demon here.

Imagine his surprise, then, when said Demon was sprawled haphazardly on the large bed, tangled in silk sheets and smelling of alcohol and sulfur. There was no breath from the demons body, it was completely still and looking for all intents and purposes like a corpse. His skin was pale, hair matted to his face and skin like it was gelled down, and he was completely unmoving. He was also surprisingly close to being naked, though he clearly wasn't making an Effort, as it were. Aziraphale could see all the blemishes he didn't bother to look at when he was inhabiting the Demon's body, which included several scars that looked suspiciously like whip marks, burn scars, and needle marks, as well as some the angel recognized as nail marks and cigarette burns. There were faint bruises on the Demon's back and hips he suspected were from his less than functional joints being adjusted by the chiropractor Crowley had mentioned. The demon looked distressingly human in this state. Vulnerable and innocent despite his usual smirk still on his lips. The Angel slowly approached the bed, still slightly worried that the demon was no longer alive, and touched his shoulder.

Crowley shot up instantaneously, fangs bared and nails lengthening into claws. As soon as his eyes caught up with his instincts, he relaxed. "Bit rude, sneaking in on a person while they sleep, Angel."

"You aren't a person, and I was worried about you!" Aziraphale could sense the demonic energy again, but there still was a lack of genuine evil. He had met humans that gave off a more hellish aura than this demon did. "You disappeared and never took my calls. Genevieve said she hadn't seen you. After everything, I feel like it should be expected that I would eventually come to collect you from your misery, you foolish serpent." Crowley's eyes softened a bit.

"How long was I asleep? Gen isn't 80 or anything, right?"

"What? Of course not! It's been three weeks!"

"That's a relief. Last time I fell asleep for a while I woke up to a neighbor who was an infant when I fell asleep having two great grandchildren. That was weird." Crowley stretched a bit, wincing as he went, and stood. "Want a cuppa? Need something with caffeine if I plan on staying awake."

Aziraphale didn't have time to answer before Crowley left the room, strolling about in his silk shorts, checking his plants and turning the kettle on.

"Crowley, are we going to talk about this?" Aziraphale asked in a small voice, looking at anything but the scars on Crowley's chest that the angel had not seen before. Not all were obvious, but there was a brand across the Demon's sternum that made the angel feel a bit nauseous.

"About what, Aziraphale? About me sleeping? About the fact that I have a chiropractor? About the apocalypse that didn't happen? About how this place still reeks of holy water for some go-sata- someone blessed reason?" Crowley walked across the floor surprisingly carefully, his whole body seemed tense as he set the cups down on the table. Aziraphale took a sip of what was arguably the best tea he had had in a long time. "Why don't we just talk about dinner, and forget the rest. We did the Ritz, I think a picnic was the other suggestion, yeah?"

"I thought I had lost you, you know. When I came over and could sense holy water and no demonic energy. I thought you had used the leftover Holy Water and.. left." Crowley snorted.

"There isn't any more Holy water. Except maybe under the counter or soaked into the floorboards. I got the floors professionally cleaned, and scrubbed them after with liquid hellfire. I think one of the plants might have gotten splashed with it, it seems to be a little less scared than the rest. But there's nothing to be done for the smell other than move I suspect. I'm thinking I might try Rome, actually. ear they're quite into indulging there."

"You… You're leaving? Aziraphale looked down into his cup, rather than at his- the demon.

"Not immediately, no. Gotta relocate the plants, find a place, learn Italian.."

"You already know Italian. You were there for the INVENTION of Italian. And Rome is awful!" Had Aziraphale looked up he would have seen a look of disappointment on Crowley's face, but it was quickly hidden.

"Good point. Maybe I'll get out of Mayfair sooner than I thought, then." When Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, set on telling him to leave, then, see if he cared, he saw the sparkle of complete, bastardly amusement in his eyes. "Oh come on, Angel. As if you'd get rid of me that easily. I found a flat in Soho just before I fell asleep. I move in.." He checked his phone. "Yesterday. Oops." His eyebrows furrowed.

"You're moving to Soho? You didn't tell me!"

"I fell asleep. Forgot to astral project into your book pile and let you know." The demon stood, snapping his fingers. Suddenly all the plants were gone, the walls bare, and the table vanished. "How about you head home, I'll go unpack and we can meet at yours after for some wine?"

"That sounds… lovely, Crowley. Thank you." Aziraphale left then.

Crowley sank to the floor in exhaustion. The miracle of buying, and moving into an apartment simultaneously had him ready for another nap. Instead he went to a new flat in Soho and cancelled his bid for a villa in Rome for two. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment I'm a slut for feedback


	7. +1: For No Reason at All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> +1 time Aziraphale really did lose Crowley, for no reason at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter discusses explicit drug use, panic attacks and overdoses. Please take care of yourself and heed the warning.

In 2024, about 5 years post the apocalypse that didn't happen, Crowley woke alone in his Soho flat, feeling something akin to despair fueled panic soaking into his very being. It wasn't often since the apocalypse that never happened that he had felt this way, but it did happen. The walls of this bedroom were undecorated in a way similar to his last flat, but it felt emptier. It felt less like home, after the months Crowley had spent carefully choosing decorations for the Villa in Rome that never happened either, the flat felt wrong. He knew Aziraphale was busy today, helping restore a very early copy of 'The Well at the World's End', and that did not help the emptiness threatening to consume him. While it was perhaps true that demons could not have addictions, per say, Crowley felt his body aching for relief. 

Relief from pain, from these thoughts that were swirling around him like an oppressive cloud. His mind screamed for something to  _ stop _ the screaming. His hands were shaking, his body wanting oxygen even if it didn't need it. There was nothing here to ground him. No plants in this room, no decorations to speak of. He felt like he was being buried in the loneliness of it. The room was not spinning, but it was wobbling. Back and forth like a strong breeze had come through and knocked it clean from the building, all that was holding it was sheer force of will. 

Crowley drank a few gulps of bourbon from a bottle that appeared in his hand before deciding it would not be strong enough

He then reached for a box on his bedside table that was always there but only had what he needed  _ when _ he needed it. The glass vial full of a substance that was not unlike tar in color nor unlike it in viscosity. Injecting it was typically a very precise procedure, as Crowley's supply tended to vary in potency, depending on what was nearby, and he knew how much to use at any given time. 

He was not that careful with this injection, and he realized it immediately, as he rocketed from anxiety to drowsiness within a few minutes. He often attempted to accelerate his high, make it reach the full effect as quickly as possible, but his body was rejecting his magic to instead try to figure out what was wrong with the blood it was pumping. 

After about twenty minutes, Crowley's skin had started turning blue. He did not need to breathe usual but with his powers suppressed his corporation required oxygen to sustain itself. His breathing had become shallow. As his heart failed to pump blood, he felt his lungs filling with fluid. 

* * *

After twenty one minutes, Aziraphale heard a strangled prayer, of nothing but his name. He was out of his bookshop and barrelling towards Crowley's flat immediately. The wards around Aziraphale's bookshop and Crowley's flat meant he could not simply miracle himself there. The rain made traffic slow and worsen, and so the fastest method of getting there was running. Aziraphale's phone rang only once before he answered, swerving between humans huddled under umbrellas and talking amongst themselves as if they did not know the Demon who helped save the world needed help (they of course did not know this). 

"Crowley? I heard your prayer, what's happening? "

"Angel, I-" Crowley's voice was cut off by a wheezing breath, and a strangled laugh that was more like hysteria. The flat was still ten minutes away if Aziraphale had been running in sunlight with no one around. As it was it would take at least 15 minutes to be there. "I don't think I'm going to- I- I'm sorry, Aziraphale,"

"Just breathe, Crowley, I'll be there soon, it's okay" Aziraphale had never been there for Crowley's discoporations, but he knew this was not the same. Celestial Entities survived because their magic saved them. If Crowley's magic was suppressed, this death may very well be permanent. The line had gone distressingly quiet, but since there was no dial tone, Aziraphale knew the call had not ended. 

"Promise me, Crowley. " There was more rain than was expected. Running through Soho was nearly impossible. "Promise that when i get to your flat you will still be there" 

The silence on the other line was unnerving. "Anthony J. Crowley. You PROMISED me forever." 

And Crowley had promised, once. In a drunken stupor after a fight that had not really been his fault, but he apologized first anyway. He had knelt in front of his Angel, and swore that no matter what happened, no matter the events, Crowley would always be there. 'Unless God herself stops me, Angel, I'll be yours forever. From now until time ends, I am yours. Through all my shortcomings I will actively try to be better, to become the person you think I am, think I should be. I will be that person one day, Angel. Just you wait and see.' Neither mentioned the fact that the promise was made like vows, neither mentioned the way it felt more like a declaration of undying love than an apology for a broken mug and a stained book. 

"How long have we been friends? Six thousand years, you useless Demon! I swear on my own life if I get there and you are in less than perfect condition I will personally smite you myself." Still nothing. There wasn't even breathing. The line wasn't dead. He was there. He couldn't be gone. Aziraphale swore under his breath. "Please, Crowley. I can't keep doing this."

He said keep, like this happened often, but all the times Aziraphale had mentally mourned his demon were unknown to Crowley, and had he been more capable of conscious thought, this would have struck him as odd. "I need you to at least say goodbye. I can't lose you like this." Apparently, Angels can cry. Demons, too, but Aziraphale couldn't tell that he wasn't the only one sobbing at this point. The mute button on the phone in Crowley's flat had been pressed specifically to keep the Angel from hearing. To keep him from hearing the way Crowley's breathing had become short and watery. "Crowley just let me know you are still alive. You don't have to speak. I can't feel you anymore." Between the numbing cold and fading soul of Crowley, Aziraphale couldn't feel anything. "I just need to know you can hear me." Crowley tapped the mute button. The choking sounds of his lungs was immediately drowned out by Aziraphale's sobs. "Oh God, Crowley. I'm almost there, love. You won't be alone, please hold on." Crowley's vision had blurred into something akin to an acrylic paint pouring artwork. Everything blending together. He couldn't hear the angel anymore, instead he heard a distant hum, like when someone is talking to you but they're just slightly too far away, and you can't make out what they're saying. It was too bright. Too much sunlight for how much it was raining. Crowley hated the sunlight. He thought there was something cosmically funny about the fact that he was seeing light at the end of the tunnel. He wondered what death was like for a demon. True death. The humming was louder now. It was musical, almost. Like being surrounded by thousands of perfectly in tune Cellos, playing the same notes. It was very nearly peaceful.

* * *

When Aziraphale reached Crowley's building, Death was standing outside, looking up at the building without moving. " **Hello, Principality Aziraphale. Do you know the reason I am here?"**

"Yes, yes I know, but please allow me to speak to him. Crowley deserves a goodbye."

**"Demon's deaths are not permanent. Why would I be here for him?"**

"Aren't you? Here for him?"

**"I am unsure. I knew I was meant to be here, but something is directing me away. If it is the Demon's soul I am to retrieve, I am willing to allow you your goodbyes."** Aziraphale let out a soft breath. 

"Thank you."

The two entities walked side by side into the building, up the stairs, and to the only door on the 13th floor. Aziraphale did not knock, simply opening the door and seeing nothing out of place. The bedroom door was open, but from the threshold he could not see inside. Death stayed in the lounge, allowing Aziraphale to walk slowly into the bedroom, to see the body of his best friend of all time laying sprawled out on the floor, on hand on the screen of a cell phone, the other clutching desperately at his throat, as if it could somehow bring back the oxygen it had lost. 

Crowley's skin was blue, at his hands and lips, and his eyes were wide open. Pupils dilated and almost round. He looked scared. His body looked scared. Aziraphale could tell Crowley was no longer there. The body on the floor was empty. "You said I could say goodbye." Aziraphale choked out. 

**"I did. Have you, then?"** Death entered the room and froze, in what could only be described as surprise.  **"Where is he?"**

"You haven't taken him?"

**"No, Principality. While his soul is not here, nor in Hell, it has not yet passed to my realm either. There is Great Power here. Perhaps She had matters to attend to with your Fallen friend."**

* * *

Crowley was getting annoyed by the humming. He had at some point closed his eyes to avoid the sunlight, but he couldn't move to cover his ears. The crescendo of sounds were coming together into words, now, but still too loud to comprehend. When they finally cut out, it was almost worse. Total silence, true silence. The kind that doesn't exist anymore. The silence that came before anything had happened. He opened his eyes to see warm caramel eyes looking back at him.

"You are in so much trouble." The archangel Raphael was kneeling over him, worry lines on their face as they worked, healing the damage done by the drugs and alcohol. "Mother will be back in a moment, she stepped out to get some air. You know the drugs you injected were laced, right? That by combining them with alcohol you managed to make the first honest to Her magic suppressant? Had we left you alone it would have taken days for your corporation to dissolve, and even longer for your soul to actually pass. She is furious with you." Crowley found his voice.

"Why does She care? I'm not hers, anymore." 

_ "Of course you are, Crowley."  _ Her voice came in from the doorway, small and sad. It was not the voice of an all powerful being. Crowley had heard children speak with more authority, but still she left no room for argument.

"That's not my name. Not to you, anyway." Crowley said, feeling surprisingly calm seeing the woman shaped being in the doorway. 

_ "Of course it is. Your first name was given and taken away. The name you gave yourself is yours, more than any name I ever gave you. Except perhaps Starlight. That one is still quite fitting."  _ Her smile was small, but Crowley could see the righteous anger in Her gaze. He could not tell you what She looked like, but he did not think there was an inaccurate description. 

"Raphael, you should go."

"But Brother, I-"

"Now, Raphael. You need to leave. If She doesn't turn me back into stardust you can finish healing me later" The archangel nodded and vanished on the spot. "Mother, I-"

_ "What were you THINKING?"  _ The universe shook in her anger.  _ "How could you do this to yourself? To Aziraphale? To your brothers? To your sisters? Did it ever occur to you how this could affect them?"  _

"Of course it did. I just.. they didn't want me anyway. It doesn't matter. I don't matter."

_ "Of course you matter. Perhaps you have forgotten in the six millennia you've been gone, but when you Fell, Heaven grieved. Many have forgotten, now, but they would all feel your loss, if it were permanent. Raphael stays with me, for he cannot bear this place with you gone."  _ She took a breath,  _ "I know you do not want to come home. I know you could never be happy here. But you can't keep destroying yourself just to feel like you did when time began. Michael came to me recently, to let me know your corporation had scars. The scars of torture and the scars that come after. He still cares for you too, though maybe he does not know why. My Starlight, you must know, there is still love here for you. The Angels do not know it, but they mourn the loss of you, of Kokabiel. Perhaps that is no longer your name, but it is still your legacy. Please, when you return, remember that." _

Crowley sat through Raphael's healing, through God's fussing, and through Michael hugging him softly. They had not said a word, but they did hold him in the same way they used to when they were young. 

Aziraphale sat, holding Crowley's hand in his own for what felt like days but was really minutes. (47 minutes, to be exact) The world felt cold without Crowley. Like the stars would never shine again. When Crowley's body began to fade, as though evaporating, Aziraphale let go gently, and turned to the doorway. He waited less than three seconds before he heard the clicking of snakeskin shoes on marble flooring. 

"Angel? Are you here?" Aziraphale appeared in front of the Demon, wrapping his arms around Crowley's waist, breathing in the scents of Whiskey and leather and applewood smoke, which Crowley always seemed to smell of. 

"If you ever do that to me again, I will stab you with my flaming sword."

"I will keep that in mind. You may have to wait until Raphael is done punching my lights out though. I think they'll want a turn." Aziraphale did not look surprised at this.

"We'll make a list."

**"I'm third in line."** Crowley laughed. A genuine laugh, more than he had been able to muster for a long time.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Death. Maybe next time."

**"Your Mother would probably not approve of me saying this, but I do sincerely hope there is not a next time. I do not want this job if it means this."**

"Honestly, Azrael, I don't think She minds."

**"Good. Goodbye, Principality Aziraphale. Goodbye, Demon of Stars Crowley."** Death vanished without so much as a puff of smoke. 

"He's interesting company." Aziraphale looked at Crowley. "I'm glad you're home." Crowley laughed softly.

"Me too, Angel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last official chapter!   
> There will be an epilogue!  
> It will mostly be to show Crowley's Chiropractor because I made a whole character for the Chiropractor and then never got a chance to write them in. It is not important to the plot other than to demonstrate that they have gotten better. I hope you enjoyed this little rollercoaster. I'd love if you left feedback! And if you have any stories you want me to write, leave me the prompts! I can't guarantee anything but I'll do my best!


	8. Epilogue: Chiropractor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale meets Crowley's chiropractors.

"Carrie! How are you?" Crowley smiled at the woman sitting behind the reception desk, gesturing widely.

"Hello, Anthony. I believe Cameron, Eliza, and William are treating you today. I see you brought your angel. Perhaps he will be able to  _ remember your appointments. _ " Crowley smiled sheepishly.

"I am a bit overdue. Can we head back or do they have someone back there?" Carrie waved vaguely. 

"Go ahead. There's a new fern in the room, don't break it." Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at this, but waited until they were walking down the hallway to ask.

"Have you broken their plants before? And why does it take three doctors for one patient?" 

"Only once, and you'll see. I should warn you, though, Cam and Liza are a lot to handle." 

Aziraphale did not get the chance to ask why before two young women came barreling out of the exam room, laughing and wrestling each other to get to Crowley first. The demon was quickly hugged, the two girls talking rapidly. They had yet to spot Aziraphale. Crowley was beaming at the girls, answering their questions in rapid succession. The smaller of the two locked eyes with Aziraphale.

"Oh! Monsieur Fell! Hello! We did not know Anthony was bringing you! Please, follow me into the exam room, there should be plenty of space." She led them into a surprisingly large room, with the table dead center. An older man sat at the counter, looking over paperwork. 

"Hello, Crowley." He glanced at Aziraphale "Monsieur Fell, it is nice to meet you. It's Aziraphale, Correct?" 

"Oh! Yes, Aziraphale is fine." 

"Excellent. I presume you do not need anything corrected? You have excellent posture, I can't imagine yours give you much trouble. After I finish with Anthony, I can take a look, though." 

"Oh, my back is just fine, thank you." William raised an eyebrow. 

"I meant your wings, good man. Assuming they are of the same stock at Anthony's, I know they don't sit properly with your human shoulders." Aziraphale paled, looking quickly to Crowley, who was shirtless and talking casually to Liza about a shooting pain that had recently reemerged. 

"Crowley? Some help, here." Crowley looked up, surprised. 

"What's wrong, Angel?" 

"William here is under the impression that I, and  _ you  _ have wings. Care to explain?" Crowley looked confused.

"We  _ do _ have wings, Angel." 

"Anthony broke a plant with his once!" Cameron cut in with a giggle. "It was funny. Mother was furious." 

"Why do  _ they know we have wings  _ you bloody serpent. You can't go about telling humans about us!"

"How do you think they could fix my back if they didn't know I had wings? Don't you think the additional shoulder blades would give it away?" 

This conversation continued for another fifteen minutes, to the amusement of the Martin Family. Finally Aziraphale accepted that these humans were trustworthy and sat down to watch them work. When Crowley presented his wings, Aziraphale was surprised to see some disfigurement near the scapula of his left wing. 

"Anthony! Your shoulder is out of place  _ again.  _ You must let it heal if you want it to stop doing this." Eliza scolded, putting one hand gently on the shoulder blade and the other braced on the wing. "This in going to hurt." She set the bone into place with a popping noise that made Aziraphale's shoulders hurt in sympathy. William was applying pressure to Crowley's lower back, tutting to himself.

"You must stop missing your appointments. Your entire lumbar section is kinked up again."

"His right wing is healing okay. The bones all feel like they're where they're supposed to be. Shoulder is still too far out, but I don't think we can fix it." Cameron looked at Crowley. "How is the pain?" 

"Better than before. I think something is off in the wing itself but that's not really your job, you know? Catherine is meant to look at it after this." Aziraphale was too busy listening to Crowley to notice the way William had placed his hands on Crowley's back. When he heard a crack that sounded horribly like broken bones, he jumped to his feet. Crowley blessed loudly, slumped forward and breathing heavily. "That felt absolutely awful and I hate that I feel better."

"You're a drama queen. Catherine will be in soon. Stretch your wings out a bit before she comes in. When she's done I'll take a look at Aziraphale and then you can go." The three left the room. Crowley did as he was told. A woman dressed in an electric blue leather jacket and sunglasses came in, looking angry and radiating a power unique to humans. 

"Anthony! It's lovely to see you, dear. You're only two months late." She spoke like a movie star from the 1930s, all long vowels and smooth enunciation. Aziraphale felt like he was meeting a Disney villain. 

"My dearest apologies, Ma'am. I died a bit. I'm better now." 

"Death is no excuse for standing me up. Sit down. Wings up. You're not new at this." Crowley did as he was told. "You need to stop sleeping with your wings out. That fracture in your radius  _ still  _ hasn't fully healed." She slowly moved her hands down Crowley's wings, methodically applying pressure and realigning the joints. It sounded an awful lot like someone cracking their knuckles. 

"How's Sam? Haven't heard from them in a while." 

"Oh they're somewhere in Nevada. I believe they recently became a dominatrix. Or whatever the gender neutral term for one is." Aziraphale nearly choked on nothing at the woman's casual tone. 

"Oh, that's interesting. They would be good at it. How do you feel about them following in your shoes?"

"As long as I don't have to do the laundry They have my blessings. Will isn't thrilled about it."

"I can imagine. He wasn't particularly happy when Taylor started either." Aziraphale was in stunned silence. "Oh, Angel, this is Catherine d'Aulaire-Martin. She was a very well known French dominatrix in the 1960's." 

"You say  **_was_ ** , dear serpent, but I had you on your knees and in position in less than fifteen seconds. I believe I still  **_am_ ** a well known dominatrix." 

"You are 82 years old I do  _ not  _ need the mental image of you in spandex, Cathy." Crowley drawled. 

"You are more than 6,000 years old and I would  _ love  _ to have the mental image of you in spandex, my dear." She purred, shooting a smile and wink to Aziraphale, who was bemused and embarrassed at once, because now  _ he _ was thinking about Crowley in spandex. "Okay, Anthony. You're all done. Shirt on, out of the way. Aziraphale, would you mind removing your copious layers and kneeling before me? I want to ensure your wings are taken care of while you're here." Aziraphale complied without argument. He didn't think he would win an argument against Catherine anyway. She began checking over his wings, much more thoroughly than she had with Crowley's. "Oh, dear. Doesn't this hurt?" She mumbled to him, looking at a spot where the first digit of his wing had been broken and partially healed crooked. "It would be worth rebreaking and setting this bone, if you're up to it. This looks like an old injury, but we've noticed that they seem to take an incredibly long time to heal, if they aren't treated."

"Oh, it's been like that since the 15th century. I don't think there's anything to be done for it." Aziraphale admitted. Catherine rolled her eyes and looked to Crowley. 

"Come hold him still, I'll break and set it." Crowley did not argue, holding Aziraphale's wing with one hand and Aziraphale's hand with the other. It hurt, but once it was splinted, it immediately started to feel better, as if his healing was only just now setting in. "If the bones are left to heal without treatment, your magic does not seem to recognize it at a proper appendage, and it struggles to heal. But by setting the bone, it suddenly remembers what it was supposed to be like and fixes it. That surprisingly was your only injury. Your wings are in much better shape than Anthony's. It's been 45 years and we still haven't gotten his straightened out. William is going to give you an adjustment and you can leave. I expect you  **_both_ ** back in four weeks to check in." The two nodded quickly.

"Yes ma'am"

"Of course!" 

William did give Aziraphale a small adjustment, commenting again on his wonderful posture, but telling describing the large amounts of tension Aziraphale carried in his shoulders. "You should see a masseuse. I will give you my daughter's business card. She will be able to work with your particular needs." 

* * *

The two left the office that afternoon in comfortable silence. It wasn't until they reached the Bentley that Aziraphale spoke. 

"They were.. interesting. You know such odd people." Crowley laughed, giving Aziraphale a grin that showed off his fangs, which glinted in the afternoon sun.

"Remind me to introduce you to my dentist sometime, Angel. He makes that family look completely normal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a bet of fun. I had the idea for Catherine in my head and just thought it would be very funny. Could not resist.


	9. A New story!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An author's request for tropes

Hey everyone!

I'm in a writing mood and want to crank out some short (or not so short) good omens fics!  
I was wondering if anyone had any requests for tropes or aus they like and would like to see me attempt! If yall could drop them in the comments or at my tumblr (its-ineffable-probably) !

Thanks in advance y'all

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudo or a comment if you want. That could be nice.
> 
> I don't have an upload schedule and I write on my phone so sorry bout that lol


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